Allgemein, Poetry, Writinglakeside view i have heard him whistling his own coffin his step is a trace of a dead dog as he went by below, so much regret i can hear a humming from his bed a gardener with no fear as we grow coffins of lightest wood 50.772037 6.084619 Share this:TwitterFacebookWhatsAppPinterestEmailLike this:Like Loading... Standard
teakettlecat 